


Don’t Go

by uniquepov



Series: H/D Stocking Stuffers [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Potions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:29:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniquepov/pseuds/uniquepov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a stocking stuffer for the lovely <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_nenne"><a href="http://nenne.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://nenne.livejournal.com/"><b>nenne</b></a></span> over at <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_hd_seasons"></span><a href="http://hd-seasons.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://hd-seasons.livejournal.com/"><b>hd_seasons</b></a> for their H/D Stocking Stuffer exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don’t Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nenne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenne/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** I solemnly swear that I am up to no good; however, I promise to return everyone, good as new, when I'm done playing with them. I own nothing that you recognize, and I do not profit from any of it.

The explosion rocked the classroom, sound echoing off the walls and making it difficult to determine which workstation it had come from. Only the large cloud of smoke billowing from a cauldron in the back alerted the professor as to which – or, rather, _whose_ \- project had just gone rather spectacularly up in smoke.

“Everyone outside!” Professor Slughorn thundered. “Outside and into the hall; quickly, now!” The handful of eighth-year Potions students looked shaken as they filed out of the classroom, but Slughorn’s attention was on the workspace at the back. “Potter! Malfoy! Alright there?”

Neither boy answered and Slughorn bustled to the back of the classroom, fearing the worst.

Harry, lying under an adjacent worktable, groaned and pushed himself into a sitting position. His glasses were broken, hanging from one ear as he blinked owlishly up at Slughorn. “Professor? Wha- What happened?”

Slughorn looked past him, searching the floor for the missing blond. As he rounded the worktable, he skidded to a halt and gasped out, “Merlin’s beard!” Raising his wand, he sent a Patronus speeding off towards the hospital wing.

***

Harry was lying in his bed in the hospital wing, listening to Madam Pomfrey mutter to herself as she ran a series of diagnostic spells on the unconscious blond. He’d only gotten a brief glimpse of Draco’s face after the accident – his glasses had resisted multiple repairing spells – but something had seemed… wrong. Finally, Madam Pomfrey finished her diagnostics and emerged from behind the curtain.

“The potion they created appears to be a simple de-aging potion. It looks like neither boy will suffer any permanent ill effects,” she told Slughorn and McGonagall.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He and Ron had been engaged in a rather animated conversation – by way of hand gestures and muted whispers – and he had accidentally knocked all the ingredients - that Draco had painstakingly prepped - into their cauldron at once. He’d had a half-second to look, panic-stricken, at his lab partner before the lot had blown up in their faces.

“How long will the effects last, Poppy?” McGonagall’s curt brogue was laced with concern.

“I can’t be sure, of course, but no more than a few hours, I should think, Headmistress; a day at the most,” replied the Healer.

“A day?” sputtered Slughorn. “But… but… what do you propose we do with him until then?”

Slughorn’s voice sounded so panicked that Harry’s heart jumped and then sank into his stomach. What had he done? Draco Malfoy might be an arrogant sodding git, but he hadn’t intentionally wanted to hurt him. Draco had tried to do the right thing, there at the end of the war, and having been paired with him in Potions for the last 6 months, Harry had learned to appreciate the blond’s quick wit and snarky humor. They’d even shared a laugh, now and again. He’d thought… well, he’d thought that they might even become friends, given enough time.

As the teachers’ voices faded into the hall, he pushed himself up out of bed and padded over to the cot they’d placed Draco on. The words died in his throat as he slipped into the curtains and came face to face with a very-frightened-looking Draco… who appeared to be about five or six years old; certainly far younger than he’d looked when Harry had first met him, in Madam Malkin’s shop.

“Who are you?” the boy demanded petulantly. “Where’s Mummy?”

Harry just stared, mouth agape, eyes wide.

“Father will make you tell me!” Draco’s childish voice held the barest trace of the haughtiness it would acquire in later years. “He’ll punish you!”

“Draco, listen; I-”

“How do you know my name? Where am I?” The boy was bordering on hysterical.

Harry held up his hands and lowered his voice to speak in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “Easy, Draco, it’s alright. You’re at Hogwarts.”

The blond stared at him. “Hog-Hogwarts School?” he asked tremulously.

Harry nodded, and continued, “And you’re in the hospital wing. You – were visiting the Potions classroom, and there was an accident. You’re alright, but Madam Pomfrey – the Healer – says you’ll have to stay overnight so she can keep an eye on you.”

The boy seemed to think this over. “Who are you?” he asked again, more calmly.

“I’m – Harry. Just Harry,” Harry told him quietly. “I was in the Potions class when the accident happened.”

“Oh,” Draco said. “Where are my parents?”

“I – ah – I expect that they wanted to let you rest,” Harry said lamely. The boy seemed to accept this, though. His silvery eyes studied Harry for a long moment. Harry fidgeted, but he found he could not tear his eyes from the boy’s.

“Well, I should get back to bed,” Harry took a tentative step backwards.

“Wait,” Draco said, his lower lip quivering slightly. “Don’t go. Please?”

Harry, slightly dumbfounded at the boy’s plea, nodded dumbly. He sat on the edge of the bed, and was further astounded when Draco’s small, trembling hand grabbed hold of several of his fingers. He looked down at the boy kindly.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You’re alright.”

The boy nodded, but tears began welling up in his eyes. Harry, filled with concern, scooted farther onto the bed and gathered the child into his lap, rocking him gently and making soft shushing sounds.

“I want Mummy…” Draco whispered brokenly.

“She’ll be here soon,” Harry comforted him. “I’ll stay until she comes, alright?”

The child nodded against his chest and Harry petted his hair soothingly.

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” he said softly.

As Draco’s breathing evened out, Harry shifted him back under the blankets and laid down beside him, the blond’s small hand still clutching his fingers tightly.

***

Harry woke to moonlight streaming across the bed. Blinking groggily, he managed to focus on an amused-looking Draco lying beside him. He smiled softly at the blond, before the fact registered in his brain that Draco was his eighteen-year-old-self again, followed quickly by the realisation that they were still holding hands, fingers entwined. He scrambled into a sitting position on the bed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You-“

“It’s alright,” Draco interrupted calmly. “I remember.”

“You – you do?” Harry stammered.

The blond nodded. “Why did you stay with me?”

Harry looked taken aback at the question. “Dra- Malfoy, you were just a little kid. I couldn’t leave you alone and frightened like that.”

Draco looked thoughtful. “I suppose,” he said, after a moment, “given the circumstances, you ought to go on calling me Draco.”

Harry blinked, having expected an argument from the normally snarky blond. “Uh, right. So… you should call me Harry, then.”

Draco nodded. “Alright, Harry.”

The two young men stared awkwardly at each other. Harry shifted himself off the bed and straightened out his rumpled clothing as best he could.

“Right. I should… go back to my own bed, now that you’re yourself again.”

The blond sighed, turning to look out the window from his spot under the covers.

“It’s snowing again,” he told Harry. The dark-haired wizard looked at him in confusion. It regularly snowed in this part of Scotland from early November through the spring; this close to Christmas, it would have been remarkable for it _not_ to be snowing.

“So I see,” he said neutrally, wondering if Draco was, in fact, completely recovered.

“I love being outside in the snow,” the blond said now. “It’s so quiet and peaceful.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I know what you mean.”

“That’s how you made me feel last night,” Draco said.

Harry had no answer for that. He fidgeted as the blond continued to stare out the window and inched closer to the curtains surrounding the bed.

Draco turned his silvery gaze back to Harry, and for an instant, the dark-haired man could see an echo of the frightened little boy he had met a few hours earlier, before he dropped his eyes to the blankets and whispered, “Don’t go. Please?”

Harry sat back down on the end of the bed, his heart in his throat.

Draco reached over and tentatively took Harry’s hand in his own. He looked directly into Harry’s emerald eyes.

“Thank you.”

Harry squeezed his hand in response.


End file.
